


Storytelling

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Day 3, Fables - Freeform, Jonmund Summer 2020, M/M, Storytelling, Sunsets, Wildling Culture & Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Every time the sun set there was a sense of apprehension in the air. A worry that perhaps the sun might not rise again, that they would be trapped in the darkness of the Long Night once more. Story’s though, those can help even the greatest fear to pass.Written for Jonmund Summer 2020 Day 3: Summer Nights
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Summer 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893670
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Storytelling

Every time the sun set there was a sense of apprehension in the air. A worry that perhaps the sun might not rise again, that they would be trapped in the darkness of the Long Night once more. 

It was a fear that would survive for decades, until all those who had survived the Battle for the Dawn had passed on, taking their fear with them. And it might even last longer than that, the precise fear fading into a tradition, a cultural fear of the night and its terrors. 

Together they faced that fear, they stayed together, close to and reassuring each other. 

It was the sky that they watched, the summer nights filling the sky with glorious bursts of red and orange and pink, colours that had not ever heralded the arrival of the Night King.

Jon slipped his hand into Tormund’s, his fingers lacing through his lover’s until they were clasped together tightly. 

“When I was a child our nursemaid used to tell us a story about the colours of the sunset.” Jon said softly, his gaze not leaving the colours of the sky, “She would tell us that the world was the inside of a giant’s eye and when the sky lit up with bright colours it was when the giant was being chased by demons and drakes. The colours were the flames of their torches, and when the sky went dark it was because the giant was hiding in a cave.”

He turned and smiled up at Tormund, only to see the same expression on his lover’s face.

“And how long did little Jon Snow believe that?” Tormund asked with fondness infused in his voice.

Jon flushed, “Longer than I should have. Not so long as Bran though, he still believed it when I left Winterfell the first time.” 

Tormund laughed, “Do you think he still believes it? King on the Iron Throne and still believing a cradle tale?”

“It’s a possibility,” Jon laughed as well, “Seeing as we battled a cradle tale just a few months ago.”

Tormund pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Aye, that is true. Let’s hope it was just a tale told by you me nursemaid rather than truth, for I do not know how you might save us should those demons succeed in hunting the giant.”

His tone was so serious when discussing the silly tale from Jon’s childhood that Jon could not help but fall a little bit more in love with him.

“And what of your stories? Do you have any tales about the colours of the sunset?”

Tormund looked back at the colours and his voice took on an almost sing-song quality. “Back when the Free Folk first became free, just after the building of the Wall, there was a singer whose voice was so beautiful even the bird themselves stopped singing to listen. He travelled between the peoples of the Free Folk without a worry, for none would dare to harm such beauty. And then he ventured into the territory of the people eaters.”

Tormund stopped and met Jon’s eyes, and already Jon could see why one of Tormund’s many epithets was ‘story teller’ for his lover painted a way with words in a way that his bear story just did not do justice.

“The people eaters shunned all forms of beauty, but the signer naively believed they would be so moved by his singing to change their ways. He asked for guest right, for safety in their halls and they granted it at first. They listened as he sang but were unmoved. They did notice though how his voice made the creatures of the forest come close, close enough that it would make hunting far easier, and so their chieftain cane up with a plan.” They captured the singer and locked him up so that he could only sing for them.”

By this time many had gathered around to listen as Tormund wove together his story, children leaning against their parents and partners leaning in to one another.

“Of course the singer did not like this, he did not want to cause the death of so many of the forest creatures, not when the people eaters were killing far more than they needed. And especially not when they had broken guest right to do it. So he called upon the Old Gods, in a lament that lasted for three days and three nights. His voice cracked and his throat went raw but still he kept on singing until the Gods heard his pleas. They sent down a fire to punish the people eaters, one which they could not run from for they were too slow from gorging themselves. The flames danced through the halls covering everything in sight with an orange glow, until the flames reached the singer. By this time his voice was gone, his reason for living was gone, and he looked at the flames as a mercy. He stepped into them, but was unburnt, no instead the Gods made him a part of them, and carried him to them so that he might perform for them forever. And as a reminder of what was lost and what happens to those who insult the Gods the flames were immortalised in the sky, so that all might see them and remember.”

As Tormund trailed off so there was a hush upon the group, the last colours of the sunset still in the sky. It was not until the sky had gone completely dark and the stars had come out that anyone moved.

Still quiet, still together, everyone moves towards their tents, the fear allayed for a little while by the story and the sunset. 

Jon followed Tormund to their tent, their hands still clasped together, and climbed under the pile of furs with him.

“Do you think that we’ll be remembered in a story one day?” Jon asked sleepily, his head on Tormund’s chest.

Tormund stroked a hand over his hair, “I would be very surprised if we weren’t already. You are going to be remembered by history Little Crow, mark my words.”

Jon let out a sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut, Tormund’s story still circulating his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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